


Step for Step

by stephanericher



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: KNBxNBA, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 00:01:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13223979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/pseuds/stephanericher
Summary: He can’t always go shot for shot with Taiga, but he can go with the game on the line.





	Step for Step

One more day. Tatsuya’s trying not to think about it, but it’s edging closer from the edges of his mind, pressing down like an insidious migraine. He’s not thinking about it; he’s thinking about Taiga’s hand on his, Taiga’s impossibly-soft fingertips against his dry cuticles, but then he’s thinking about the weather here and being inside with the heat all the way up and how he’s not sure he could do this full-time the way Taiga does, because he doesn’t. One more day and the last bit of change Tatsuya’s trying to wring out like water from a washcloth. One more day and he’s on a plane to Denver, pretending to be comfortable in the plush seats that never are and shutting his eyes and thinking about Taiga.

He doesn’t want to think about leaving when he just fucking got here, but he is and it sucks. He looks over at Taiga next to him on the couch, eyes half-closed and hair sticking up, lips parted. His shirt’s riding up over his stomach, and Tatsuya could touch (he kind of wants to). There’s still time yet, though, and he hates that he’s still thinking about it. Taiga cracks an eye open.

“Hey.”

He squeezes Tatsuya’s hand, and Tatsuya squeezes back. He feels a little bit—not quite hollow, but maybe like the hole in the side of a tree. There’s too much room. He scoots closer; the commercial on the TV changes to another ad for a car sale.

“You should buy that,” says Taiga, pointing to the black Dodge Dart as it nails a hairpin turn.

Tatsuya snorts. “Just my type.”

“Pretty sleek,” says Taiga.

Tatsuya elbows him in the stomach, and Taiga shoves Tatsuya back. They're both smiling when Taiga leans in for the next kiss.

* * *

Tatsuya’s trying to stretch this game out like overchewed bubble gum, take it into triple OT and even beyond that, play until they’re a decent sized chunk into tomorrow and every muscle in his body has stopped screaming and reached the zen master beyond fucking hurting stage and the benches are short because everyone’s fouled out. Play until it’s just him and Taiga, one on one. They only get four games a year (double if they meet in the playoffs, but that’s still all maddeningly theoretical); four OT periods and that’s a fifth game.

Though, right now, Tatsuya just wants to push it to OT, swing the momentum hard, tie it up when they’re down six with almost a minute left. There have been more improbably comebacks, perhaps not from a team as beat up as the Knicks are right now. But Tatsuya will do it all himself if he has to; he’ll catch up. He’s the one who wants this, so he’d better come get it, steal the ball from the Bulls’ backup wing. He’s good but young and not too confident, shaky bounce, eyes wide as Tatsuya makes the lunge and there it is, the familiar feel of the ball under his fingers. His hands are no longer empty, and around him his team springs to position. Tatsuya would love to take the three for himself, fingers itching, but Ross has been a hotter hand from behind the arc and he’s wide open. Just as Taiga and one of the other Bulls converge, Tatsuya passes the ball below their arms. Ross’s form isn’t pretty, but it gets the job done, the ball circling the rim for a second until it falls through.

Taiga huffs, the noise that says he can’t fucking believe but also totally can, the thing that makes Tatsuya feel extremely validated (at the very least)—and then, seeing his smile, that even though it cut his team’s lead in half—goddamn. Tatsuya’s coach calls timeout; Tatsuya brushes past Taiga on his way to the bench and he looks back just to see the flash of a grin on Taiga’s face.

If Coach didn’t tell Tatsuya to guard Taiga he’d be doing it anyway, and facing the music later regardless of the outcome. But at this point it’s clearer than the lights on the Jumbotron; Tatsuya knows Taiga’s game the best. He can’t always go shot for shot with Taiga, but he can go with the game on the line. He wants to be the one to push Taiga back to where his shot’s more miss than hit; he wants to be the one to slap it out of Taiga’s hands, rise with him and block it somehow (okay, that’s a little less plausible). He’s going to be the one who controls this possession.

Of course, Taiga feels the same, but they’ve always brought the most against each other, and Tatsuya resists the urge to bring his hand up to his neck for the ring that’s hanging on a stall in the locker room. There’s no need to ask if Taiga’s ready; the only thing Tatsuya’s waiting for is the inbound pass. He sticks with Taiga up the lane, feels Taiga move behind him and follows; the pass goes out the other way and Taiga goes toward the net. Tatsuya follows; unless he’s extremely lucky he won’t be able to outmaneuver Taiga for a rebound; he pushes back, trying to move Taiga away without fouling him. They’re going to try and run down the shot clock, unless they get a really good one in; Tatsuya really fucking wants to get out and shove the ball away, get things moving. Taiga.

The pass comes, too high for Tatsuya, too far for an alley-oop; Tatsuya jumps anyway. The ball smacks into Taiga’s hand, but he can’t get a clean shot; he sinks down, about to try again and the shot clock goes off. It’s not the kind of victory punch Tatsuya would have liked, but it works; it’s only the result that counts, the result of Taiga’s hesitation or his own getting in the way.

They get fouled and sink both frees; they foul the Bulls back. The first free throw drops in; the second bounces out, two points difference and anyone’s ball, off the rim and into Tatsuya’s vicinity. He lunges for it, passes it out almost without looking, the flash of blue farthest up his only indication of a teammate. It’s Ross; Tatsuya’s lucky, but he’s too close; the buzzer’s too close, sounding as Ross launches. Two points; they’re good; they’re going to OT.

Maybe it is good luck.

* * *

Basketball’s not like hockey; there’s no consolation prize for losing in OT other than extra minutes and extra stats that everyone’s quick to discount. An extra nine minutes on the floor with Taiga, though, is worth it, and Tatsuya’s body already feels relaxed when he steps out of the shower and pulls the necklace down around his neck.

He’s forgotten about the cold, digging its nails into Tatsuya’s lungs at his first breath, the snow falling again when the surrounding area is already coated with white and grey frozen slush, and under that salt. His skin feels frozen to his face, and he can feel his lips chapping in the wind. Taiga grins at him, like he fucking knows.

Winning looks as good on him as ever, as natural; Tatsuya can’t fault him that as much as he can resent it. He doesn’t as much now, though, not when he keeps his gaze focused on Taiga’s as he pushes back the front seat of his car.

“Where to?”

“Food,” says Taiga. “Then home.”

Then, eighteen hours until their evening flight for the afternoon game the day after tomorrow, and they’re both not going to be able to fall asleep, Taiga because he’s Taiga and Tatsuya because he’s trying not to. He wants it to be more; he wants their lives to not be squeezed into short bursts and then a whole season, adjusting to each other’s routines just when it’s time to go back to their northern cities a time zone apart. Too fucking much.

They leave the fast food bags on the counter when they get in, coats half-on while they kiss the breath from each other’s mouths, frozen from the walk to Taiga’s building from the garage, frozen hands touching frozen faces, until Taiga’s stomach growls.

“Yeah,” says Tatsuya, poking Taiga’s ankle with his toe.

He sits on the counter, and Taiga doesn’t tell him to get off for once. He feeds Tatsuya fries instead, pausing every so often to kiss the grease from his lips. Less than a day, goddamn it. Less than a day, he can’t stay here forever or even more than now, but he wraps his legs around Taiga’s waist. It won’t keep him closer; it won’t keep him longer. But it’s something, Taiga’s warm breath on his neck, the smell of fresh bacon cheeseburgers in the air, the ring resting cool between his collarbones.

**Author's Note:**

> end 2017 right
> 
> or start 2018 right, whichever applies.


End file.
